


The Gift

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:16:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul is given some gifts...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Compadres #12 and then Green Floating Weirdness #20 under the pen name Gillian Holt.
> 
> The Cherokee myth this story is based on comes from Weavers of Tales, a book of Cherokee myths for children compiled by Ramona K. Bradley. I've taken certain liberties with the original story "Keepers of the Secrets," as related by Bradley, in this story.

_"Because I don't know why, just that I had to come!"_

 

Paul Ironhorse tossed restlessly under his covers, trying to find a comfortable position.  He dug his shoulder under the edge of his pillow and pulled the flannel sheet tighter around his neck.  Sleep teased his groggy senses, but remained ever so slightly out of reach.  He grunted and rolled over, trying again.

_Paul…  Paul Ironhorse…_

          The colonel sat up, glancing around the dark, quiet room.

Had he really heard that?   _Must've been the start of a dream._

          He shook his head and lay down, pulling the blankets up around his chin, the top one falling over his ear.  The pleasant warmth made him smile, and he closed his eyes, reaching for the beckoning peace of sleep.

          "Paul Ironhorse…"

          "Go away," he mumbled, curling up.

          "Paul Ridge Ironhorse…"

          The obsidian eyes cracked open in his cocoon.  He hated his middle name, and no one at the Cottage knew what it was.

"What?" he groaned, desperately wanting to return to the sweet darkness of sleep.

          "Time to go home, Paul Ironhorse."

          "I am home," he muttered, then yawned.

          "Go home, Paul Ironhorse, your destiny awaits."

 _Destiny my ass…_  "Blackwood," he growled.  "If that's you, I'm gonna kick your butt all the way into tomorrow."

          "Go home, Paul Ironhorse.  Go home."

          "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he replied, escaping back into sleep.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          In the morning Paul rolled onto his back and stretched under the covers, fingers brushing something rough.  He jerked his hand away, pulling back the covers. Several leaves lay in his bed, red, orange, and yellow.  They weren't local, either.

          Picking up one of the leaves, he swallowed hard.  They were leaves from his North Carolina home.

_Go home, Paul Ironhorse.  Go home._

          "What the hell's going on?" he muttered, rolling out of bed.

          His feet hit the floor, a cracking sound forcing him to look down.  More leaves covered the light green carpet.  Shaking his head, Paul picked his way across the leaf-strewn floor to his bathroom.

          "No more leaves," he said, a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth. 

_Blackwood.  It has to be Blackwood.  By why?_

          Ironhorse opened the shower door and reached for the hot water, but stopped short. A small sprig of Foxfire dangled out of the faucet.

          Reaching out, Paul tugged the plant free.

_Go home, Paul Ironhorse.  Go home._

          He stood up straight, his hands on his hips.  The faint odor of bean bread wafted through the room.

          "This is crazy," he growled, looking around.  "Blackwood!"

          Nothing.

 _Besides_ , he thought.  _How would he know?  Even Blackwood isn't this good._

 _Go home, Paul Ironhorse.  Go home_ , the faint voice insisted.

          "All right," he relented with a chill.  "All right.  I'll go home."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Why are we here?" Harrison asked for the twenty-fourth time.

          "I told you, I _don't_ know."

          Blackwood leaned back in the comfortable rental car and watched the passing scenery.  The great Smoky Mountains were beautiful, but they weren't offering any answers to his questions, either.

          "Paul, if you don't know, then why did we come?"

          "Because I have to," he countered.  "I told you that, too."

          "Yes, I know you did, but you didn't tell me _why_ you have to."

          "Because I don't know why, just that I had to come!" the soldier exploded.

          "All right, all right," Harrison soothed, his hands coming up in a gesture of surrender. "But, uh, when do you think you will know?"

          Ironhorse shot the scientist a threatening glare.

          "Okay, okay," Harrison capitulated softly.  "I'll just sit here and watch."

          "Fine."

          "Have any idea how long—?"

          "Blackwood!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Reaching the small Cherokee community where he'd spent a good deal of his childhood, Paul headed for the mechanics shop.  A tall, good-looking blond man stepped out, grinning.

          "Hey, Paul, good to see you, bro."

          "You, too," Ironhorse said with a genuine smile.  "Hey, if I needed to see a medicine man these days, who would I look up?"

          The man rubbed his jaw.  "Well, I guess that'd be old man Owle.  He's living out at the Swimmer cabin."

          "Thanks," Paul said.

          "You gonna stop by?"

          "If I can," the soldier said.  "Tell Tom I said hello for me, okay?"

          "Sure."

          Paul pulled back onto the road and headed through town and into the hillside.

          "Friendly," Harrison said.

          "Yes," was all Paul offered.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Twenty minutes later, Ironhorse parked in the front yard of a small wooden cabin and climbed out of the car, Harrison following.  Together they walked through a front yard that had been allowed to go natural to the weathered wood front door.  Paul knocked.

          "Maybe no one's home," Harrison offered after several seconds of no response.

          "Maybe," Ironhorse muttered, walking around to the back of the cabin.

          Not far away from the back door, an old man sat on a large tree stump, smoking a pipe while a young hound puppy played at his feet, pouncing on the old man's boots and chewing on the leather laces.

"Grandfather," Paul said as he walked up.  "I—"

          "I know why you're here," old man Owle said.  "Come back tomorrow morning. Alone."

          "Yes, Grandfather.  I'll be here."

          Turning he walked back to the car, Harrison at his heels.  "Was that really your grandfather?" he asked excitedly.

          "No, it's just an expression for an older Cherokee man; a sign of respect."  Paul blinked and stared at Blackwood.  "Why am I here?" he asked.

          "I don't know," Harrison replied, trying hard not to grin.  The colonel looked like a five-year-old who'd gotten lost in a department store.  "To be honest, Paul, I was rather hoping you'd figure it out."

          "I have to come back tomorrow morning – alone."

          "What do I do?"

          Ironhorse considered the question as they climbed back into the car, then said with a resigned sigh, "I guess you can spend the day in town."

          Blackwood shrugged.  "Okay.  This is your operation, Paul."

          The colonel glanced at the scientist.  Harrison was being sincere.  "Thanks."

          "No problem," the scientist replied, then asked as casually as he could.  "Some of the people here know you?"

          "A few," Paul growled, already regretting his decision.  If he was smart, he'd hog-tie Blackwood in a hotel room and leave him there for the duration.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The following morning Ironhorse returned to the small cabin.  The old man was waiting for him, along with four other elders.

Paul swallowed hard and walked over to join them.  "Grandfathers," he greeted.  "I was… directed to come here."

          Old man Owle nodded.  "It's time.  You will come with us."

          "Uh, Grandfather, I—"

          "You will come with us and stay for seven days," the old man instructed.

          "A week?" Paul almost squeaked.  "Grandfather, with all due respect, but I can't do that.  I'm—"

          "Your war will wait for you, Paul Ironhorse," another of the men stated.

          "But my companion—"

          "He will be told.  Your mother will see to him until you return."

          "Oh, boy," Paul said under his breath.

          "Come, Paul Ironhorse, it is time."

          The colonel walked with the old men as they made their way up onto the great Smoky Mountains, trying to make sense of what was happening to him and getting nowhere.  He finally gave up and started looking around.  The trail they traveled was old, and seldom used, but the men obviously knew where they were going.

          He studied the scenery, the trees, the plants, and the occasional animal they flushed, letting the familiarity seep into his being.  He was home.  And it was just as beautiful as he remembered.  It had been far too long since he'd managed to visit.

          Several hours passed, and the sun was close to setting when the men led Paul to a large rock cave.  They paused just outside the entrance.

          "I am Tom Owle," the old man he'd met at the cabin stated.  "My brothers, William Bushyhead, David Brown, Michael Wolf, and Tell Climbing Bear."

          Paul nodded in turn to the five men.  "I am Paul Ironhorse."

          "What clan are you, Paul Ironhorse?" Brown asked.

          "Wolf clan, sir."

          The old man nodded and grunted, then stepped inside.  The others filed in after him, Paul entering last.

          "We are the keepers of the secrets," Bushyhead stated as he walked over to a stack of wood that had been laid out for a good-sized fire.  Squatting down, he ignited the tinder with a wooden match, then motioned for the others to gather around.

          Paul moved forward with the old men.  Looking deeper into the cave, he could see another cavern.  Bushyhead walked in and started a second fire there, then returned.

          Ironhorse sat when the old men did, waiting in silence as they settled themselves and worked on the fire.  When the flames danced, Wolf removed a pipe from a pouch he wore slung over his shoulder and prepared it.  He took a smoke and passed it to Owle, who puffed and passed it on until it finally arrived in Paul's hands.

Ironhorse puffed, and handed it back to Wolf.

          "In the old days," Climbing Bear stated, his voice as dry as old paper, "us _yun'wiya_ medicine men would come up here in these rock caves and share our secrets.  We'd meet with the _Yunwi Tsundi_ , the Little People, the spirits of the _Tsa-la-gi_ , long gone from sight."

          "We would stay in these caves for seven days and seven nights," Owle said, picking up the story.  "We would tell stories and dance until the seventh night.  We are here to do that again."

          Paul nodded, finding it hard to imagine these old men dancing, but dance they did.  The first night the old men told the story of the bear.  Then they sat, singing the song that the bears taught the People.  Paul knew the bear song was sung to ensure good hunting, but he wasn't at all sure why they were singing it now.  And when the songs ended they danced.

          On the second night Climbing Bear danced the Green Corn Dance for good crops.  He sang and danced all night long, and Paul admired the old man's stamina.

          On the third night, a song was sung invoking the spirit of the deer to be kind to the _Tsa-la-gi_.

          During the days they slept and when they were awake, Paul told the old men about his fight with the aliens.  They listened, nodding and grunting, but offering no advice.

          On the fourth and fifth nights the men spent their time telling stories of all kinds and dancing, always dancing.  Each of the old men also shared with the others the old sacred formulas that the Little People had entrusted to their ancestors.

          Over the days and nights, Paul felt a transformation taking place, a shift in his awareness as he left English behind and spoke only Cherokee.  He was _Tsa-la-gi_ again.  They drank little and ate even less, and he felt his consciousness spreading out.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Close to dawn on the sixth day Owle spoke.  "One day, a long time ago, the Little People told the shaman to surrender the secrets that they, the Little People, had entrusted to them.  They held out their hands as each man came forward and placed their secrets in them.  The Little People slipped the secrets into their medicine pouches, and while the men drummed and sang, the Little People passed out of sight into the inner depths of the cavern.  Soon, all was silence.  Then, one of the Little People spoke from the darkness:  'The world is about to change,' the voice spoke.  'The People will turn their backs on their traditions.  The People will leave their mountains, but they will one day return.  And one day, many, many seasons from now, the People will fight beings whose feet have never touched this earth.  When that day comes, we will return and give back the secrets we have taken from you.'

"This is what the Little People told our ancestors and what they told us, and what we will tell our children."  The old man took a sip of water, then met Paul's gaze. "That day has come, Paul Ironhorse."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          On the sixth night, they danced, the old men sharing sacred stories Paul had never heard before.  When he finally lay down to sleep on the dawn of the seventh day, his body tingled with anticipation.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          On the seventh night the five medicine men and Paul sat in silence around the snapping fire.  At the darkest hour they all looked up.  At a distance, drum beats could be heard, slowly growing louder and louder.  Then, into the inner circle where the second fire burned danced the _Yunwi Tsundi_ , the Little People from the spirit world.

          Paul sucked in a breath as he watched them.  Some were dressed in ceremonial garb with flowing cock-feather headdresses like the ancient Cherokee wore.  Others were dressed in the skins of animals:  bear, wolf, beaver, rabbit, and deer.  They danced like they were unaware of the men watching them, chanting sacred songs no living Cherokee had ever heard, but which all the men understood.

          Paul guessed the _Yunwi Tsundi_ danced and sang for about two hours before they stopped, dropping to sit around the second fire in a semi-circle, looking out at Ironhorse and the old men.  One of the Little People, an old, old woman, pointed at Paul.

          "Come before us as you came from your mother."

          Ironhorse swallowed hard, but he stood and removed his clothes.  He reached to take off his medicine bundle, but the old woman stopped him, pointing and saying, "No.  Leave that."

          He let the small leather bag fall back against his chest.  Standing naked in front of the fire, he felt both excited and a little frightened, but he squared his shoulders and looked at the old spirit woman.

          She motioned him forward.

          Paul walked from the cave where he'd been living for the last week, stepping into the second.  The heat from the second fire was cooler and he shivered slightly.  He stopped close to the flames, his gaze sweeping over the _Yunwi Tsundi_.  They looked just like the _Tsa-la-gi_ , some old, some young, some men and some women, but there was something about them, something… different.

          The old woman stood with a grunt and walked around to Paul's side of the fire. His gaze followed her until he noticed that the cleft in the rocks where he'd stepped through from the original cave was gone, a rock wall in its place.  His eyes rounded, but he held his comments as the old woman reached him.

          Reaching out, she squeezed one of his biceps and clucked her tongue appreciatively.  She rubbed her gnarled but soft hands over his shoulders, his chest, his legs, his butt, the single scar that remained a faint line across his lower back, then she paused to examine his manhood.  He blushed a deep crimson.

          Straightening, she nodded.  "He is a fine man.  If I were a younger woman I would seduce him into my bed."

          Paul's blush deepened as the others chuckled.  Thirteen, he noted.  There were thirteen Little People staring at his—

          He shook his head and tried not to think about it.

          "He has found the Lake," the old woman commented, walking back to her place.  The others grunted or nodded in reply.

          "Paul Ironhorse," the oldest looking of the men said.  "Do you know who we are?"

          "You're the _Yunwi Tsundi_ ," he replied without hesitation.  "The Little People of the _Tsa-la-gi_."

          "Yes, that is what we are.  Do you know _who_ we are?"

          Paul opened his mouth to reply, then paused, reconsidered, and finally said, "You are the keepers of the secrets."

          "Yes, Paul Ironhorse, that is who we are," the old man said, nodding with a faint smile.  He stood, the others following his lead.

          The Little People moved in to ring Paul, singing in ancient Cherokee.  They reached out, touching him, turning him around.  He felt his knees start to give, but their hands held him up.  Colors exploded in front of his eyes, and a wave of vertigo left him falling through his consciousness as if he soared on invisible wings.

          "Paul Ironhorse, we have kept the secrets for a long, long time, but today we share them with you," the old man's voice said.

          "And when the time comes, you will remember," the old woman's voice added.

          Then he could hear the voices, feel the touches of the Little People, but the colors blinded him – colors like the fall leaves, reds, oranges, yellows, greens…

          The _Yunwi Tsundi_ chanted words that Paul didn't understand, but he felt like he should.

          The colors shifted.  Yellows, greens, blues…

          His medicine bundle grew heavier and heavier until it bowed his head under its weight.  The colors shifted again as the chant picked up speed.  Greens, blues, violet…

          Hands began to slap him until his skin stung all over.  He dropped to his knees, the colors swirling faster.  Blue, violet, white…

          He watched as the colors shifted to white, a brilliant white that nearly blinded him.  Covering his eyes did nothing to help and Paul groaned, leaning forward, the weight around his neck dragging him down into the dust.

          The white light exploded and he fell into peaceful blackness, the words from the chant still echoing through his thoughts.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          When Paul woke next, he was lying on a blanket in the first cave.  The five medicine men sat close by, smoking and passing the pipe.  It was Owle who noticed he was awake.

          "It is good," he said, helping Paul to sit up.

          "How long have I been sleeping?"

          "Just a few hours," Bushyhead replied.  "It is time we returned to town."

          Ironhorse nodded, climbing to his feet and dressing.  His muscles were shaky, but he wasn't nearly as weak as he'd expected, although he didn't feel quite normal either.

          The old men extinguished the fire and gathered their things, rolling them into blankets and tying them so they could carry the bundles over their shoulders.

          Accepting a drink of water, Paul nodded his thanks to Wolf, then followed the old men as they led the way out of the cave.  He paused at the mouth and turned to look back.  In the second, inner cave, the old woman stood.  She waved, a toothless grin on her face.

          Paul felt his ears go red again, but he grinned and waved back, then turned and jogged several yards to catch up with the medicine men.

"Grandfather," he said to Owle, "what happened in there?"

          "The _Yunwi Tsundi_ have given you their secrets."

          "But I don't know any secrets," Paul said, honestly confused.  "I don't remember anything."

          The old man grinned.  "You will, Grandson.  When the time comes, you will."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          It was late afternoon when they reached Owle's cabin.  Paul thanked the old men, then opened his trunk and pulled out the gifts he'd brought along, handing them over to the men, who nodded and grunted their appreciation.  That done, the colonel climbed into the rental car and headed back to town.

          He parked in front of his mother's small house and climbed out of the car.  Walking to the door, he realized how long it had been since he'd seen his family and shook his head.  He really did have to get back more often.

          He knocked, then opened the door and stepped inside, calling, "Mom?"

          "In here, dear," she replied, the sound of her voice making him feel warm and safe.

          _The kitchen_ , he realized, walking through the living room to the large, bright room.  Harrison sat at the kitchen table across from his mother and the expression on the scientist's face told Paul his mother had been telling stories.

          "Welcome back," Harrison said.  "Your mother and I have had a wonderful time this week."

_Oh boy…_

          His mother stood gave her him a hug, then walked over to pour him a cup of coffee as Paul moved to the table and sank down onto one of the chairs.

"Oh?" he asked in spite of himself.

          "She tells the most wonderful stories about you."

          Ironhorse's eyes dropped closed.  "Mom, what did you tell him?"

          She gave him another hug after she set the coffee mug on the table.  "Oh, this and that," she replied.

_I'm doomed._

          "So, how'd it go?" Harrison asked.

          "Okay, I think," Paul said, forcing his eyes open and sampling the coffee.  It wasn't Norton's special blend, but it wasn't bad.

          "Okay?  Just okay?" Harrison echoed.  "What happened?  Where did you go?  Who—?"

          "Harrison," Paul interrupted.  "Look, I can't really explain it."

          The astrophysicist looked hurt.  "Can't?"

          "Can't."

          Blackwood looked up at Paul's mother.  "Oh well, at least I learned a lot this week."

          Paul's eyes fell closed again.  "Mom, you realize I'm going to have to shoot him now, don't you?"

          She bent over and kissed the top of Paul's head.  "What would you like for supper, dear?"

          "Shoot me?" Harrison asked.  "Now, Paul, what could it possibly hurt if I have better insight into your personality?"

          The colonel cracked his eyes and glowered at the man.  He might never forgive the Little People for this one.


End file.
